Best Served Cold
by shepsgirl72
Summary: Someone has a bone to pick with Sheppard. The question is...who? Shepcentric short fic, with the rest of the team there in support.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't owner Stargate Atlantis or any of the characters. But they do need to be regularly exercised, so I'm letting them out for a bit of play time again.**

**oooOOOooo**

**Best Served Cold**

**_A man who desires revenge should dig two graves – _**_source unknown._

**Chapter 1**

Sheppard gasped for air as he resurfaced from the comforting embrace of unconsciousness to the lonely confinement of his stone cell. He'd passed out again, a few moments of blissful nothingness in the midst of the torture he had endured for who-knew-how-long now. He didn't know why they were doing it…heck, he didn't even know who his tormentors were. They hadn't said a single word to him from the moment they'd made their move, just used him as a punchbag when the mood took them without so much as a 'By your leave'. It made no sense. What was any of this meant to achieve?

Streaks of sweat burned their way down his torso, stinging each and every cut and abrasion like acid as they trickled over them. This wasn't a good sign. The cell was cold and damp, he was close-as-damn-it naked, and yet he was sweating like a workhorse. He feared he was getting sick, and he needed that like he needed a hole in the head considering his current predicament. It seemed unlikely his health insurance counted for much out here.

He twisted a little from his bindings, metal gouging into his raw wrists, his toes barely reaching the floor as he desperately tried to alleviate the deep burning sensation in his shoulders. He'd been manacled this way – arms hauled above his head– for the entirety of his abduction. Except for the few, brief minutes of pummelling he'd taken while resisting the whole restraints thing. Fat lot of good that had done him. He was pretty sure they'd stamped on him and cracked a rib or two for good measure while they were at it, but to be honest, everything hurt so much now it was hard to be sure what his worst injuries were. Keller was going to have a field day patching him up once he got home. Bed rest, that was what she'd insist on, and right now he couldn't think of single more perfect idea. Things were definitely bad if an infirmary stay seemed _that_ appealing. Right now, he was considering chewing his own arms off just to get some relief from the pain and the shortness of breath.

There were no clues he'd been able to discern so far that told him where he was or who had kidnapped him. The walls of his cell were made of coarse grey stone, rough-hewn as if cut away by hand, so probably not an industrialised civilisation. Not that that narrowed things down much at all. Most of the peoples they stumbled across in the Pegasus galaxy were pre-industrial, or 'primitive' as Rodney preferred to label them in his inimitably arrogant way. Sheppard's mind idled briefly to thoughts of McKay and the rest of his team before he tried to pull them back on track, to examine, as he had done what felt like a thousand times already, the modest surroundings of his current abode. The air felt cool and damp, and there was an earthy, somewhat musty odour that gave him the sense he might be underground. The thick timber framework that laced the walls and ceiling, a part of which his chains were suspended from, suggested a mine of some kind, so perhaps a mining community? That was something to go on…although he couldn't think of such a community he or any other team had run into, so it was really no help at all. And just because they were in what felt like a mine, it didn't mean these people had actually created it. Most likely they were using it as a hideout…which didn't bode well. So far no one had cut out his subcutaneous transmitter, but if they were far enough down underground, or obscured by natural deposits that provided shielding of some kind that scrambled transmissions, it could block his signal and make it harder for a rescue team to find him. And right now, he couldn't see any way he was getting out of this without help. He needed to be visible.

Footsteps echoed through the stifling silence, sending his stomach on a nauseating lurch. Footsteps always signalled bad things were coming and he wasn't sure how much more of this he could physically take. He tried to take deep breaths to steel himself, but it was hard, and he came up lacking. The awkward position of his arms constricted his lungs and limited his ability to suck in enough air to satisfy his needs. Maybe primitive _was_ a good word to describe these people, because their torture techniques were positively barbaric from his experiences so far.

It had started off slowly. At first there had been the general scuffle to subdue and cuff him, followed by a lengthy period of solitude, which hadn't bothered him back then. When he'd next seen his captors, they'd used some kind of cattle prod on him, the charge forcing him to jerk against his restraints as he'd convulsed and cut his wrists to ribbons, a side-effect they were no doubt proud of, though they didn't show it. After that the beatings had started, first with fists, then with implements like metal bars and wooden bats. They didn't do it hard enough to break bones or rupture organs. That apparently wasn't their intention. Not that he claimed to understand their intent at all. It was what is was – brutal and relentless. They were apparently in this for the long-haul and severe injuries would only cut it short.

The door to his dingy cell groaned open and the heavies who had been working him over for the past few days returned. He'd lost count now of how many times they'd gone through this little routine, never uttering a single word. Sheppard refused to acknowledge them as they entered. It was the only control he could exert over his situation. If they wouldn't talk to him, then he wouldn't talk to them. He wouldn't barter, wouldn't beg, wouldn't cry out, wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how much this silence was crushing him, little by little. He was a military man; danger and risk of injury were all part of the job description. He supposed that made him some kind of masochist, and perhaps he was getting his just desserts. Except, when he was deployed there was a mission, and if you got caught it was because you were deemed the enemy. That gave the violence some meaning, helped to keep you grounded in why you did what you did, and why the enemy did what they did. These guys…these guys didn't seem to care about him one way or another. If he had to choose one word to describe their attitude toward him, it would be 'indifferent'. They derived no apparent pleasure out of what they were doing. They didn't smile, laugh or taunt him as they pounded on him. Yet, just like clockwork every couple of hours or so they filed in, beat the crap out of him, then filed out again. Like it was a regular shift at the factory.

Job done.

A portrait in efficiency.

All without a damn word to break the suffocating quiet.

He had to wonder why the silence was getting to him so much. But he knew the answer. It was because he hated not knowing anything about his captors. Without information, how was he supposed to talk his way out of this? What could he use as threats or leverage or bribery if he didn't know what made these people tick? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Which was why he'd opted to give them the silent treatment, too. With no other obvious motivation for their cruelty, he could only guess they needed him to suffer for some as yet unknown reason. Well, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of any feedback that might suggest they'd been successful.

After a few seconds had passed, he cast the trio the subtlest of glances to get the measure of what punishment he was in for. No weapons this time, only food and water. Great, so it was force-feeding time again, huh? God forbid he starve before they'd finished turning him into kebab meat. That certainly wouldn't do.

As he had done each and every time they'd attempted this, Sheppard clenched his jaw tight shut as the three of them ambushed him at once. And just as they had before, one of them grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back so far he thought for sure his neck would snap, ending his hopes of resistance. Another of the thugs then pinched his nose shut, forcing him to open up just to get some air. At that point a funnel was inserted in his mouth and what felt like a whole bucketful of water was tipped down his throat without thought for giving him time to swallow or breathe. He gagged and struggled, but on it went, a seemingly endless stream of water he reflexively swallowed down as and when he could, but mostly just choked on. It was invasive and dehumanising, a form of torture as and of itself. But the worst was yet to come. Bucket emptied, they shoved a slim hose into the funnel and began pumping a vile, liquid gruel straight down his oesophagus, leaving him bucking and gagging fit to spew while his cuffs gouged deep into his already ragged flesh. Yet somehow the slop kept going down. The whole process made him think he wasn't the first poor bastard these guys had unleashed their twisted hospitality on. There was a proficiency to their methods that suggested practice…and lots of it. They had it down to an artform.

As tears of strain and frustration burned down his temples, he found himself wondering, as he always did, whether his team were enduring the same treatment. He prayed they weren't – hoped that he had been singled out as their leader to be made an example of, and the others were just sitting it out, waiting for release. Or perhaps they were being forced to watch, a real-life horror show playing out for their benefit. That was a new thought for him, one that invigorated him with a new surge of defiance. If they could see this, he had to stay strong for them. He couldn't show how much this was breaking him down, degree by agonising degree.

What he really hoped, he pondered as the foul-tasting gunge slithered down his gullet, was that they'd evaded capture and had no idea of the sufferings being inflicted on him. That would be best. Maybe they were back on Atlantis right now preparing to launch a rescue mission. Yeah…or maybe not. He doubted they had been that lucky.

When the gruel was gone, the tube and funnel were savagely ripped back out, leaving him sputtering enough to bring half of what had gone in back out in a sticky puddle on the floor. Best thing he could do with the crap anyway, he figured. He was only sorry the rest of it hadn't come along for the return visit.

As he regained his breath, the bulky trio stood back, impassive, as if thoughtfully giving him time to regain his composure. But this was merely the calm before the storm. He knew how this went down now. They would avoid any blows to his stomach because whoever was in charge wanted enough food and water in him to prevent him from dying. They would limit the beating to his arms, legs or back. It was a pattern they'd followed for the past few days and he doubted they would vary it now.

True to form, thug number one at his rear kicked the backs of his knees, buckling his legs from under him. They folded, leaving him completely suspended buy his wrists. The bite of the metal digging into his torn skin drew a hiss, but no more. That had been more than he'd wanted to give up to them and he was determined to give them no more. He regained his footing, minimal as it was, hearing what sounded distinctly like the rattle of a belt buckle being loosened. Okay, that was new…and ominous…

He had to wonder how low his life had sunk when the smack of the buckle against his back brought a sense of immense relief along with it. The belt's removal could have signified something so much worse than another beating that his mistreatment seemed trivial in comparison. The leather snapped again, and the buckle thumped against his skin, the pin gouging its way into his flesh. Sheppard pressed his lips together to hold back both a cry and the flurry of obscenities coursing through his brain. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction no matter how good it would feel to give them a piece of his mind. The process was repeated over and over until his back felt as though someone had poured a can of gasoline over it and tossed in a match. The result was that the individual blows all merged into one long, searing pain. Warm rivulets of blood ran down to the waist band of his boxers, the only piece of clothing he'd been allowed to keep, warning him that the belt was cutting deep.

And then, just like that, it was over.

One by one the thugs left the room taking everything from the feeding session with them.

Silent

Impassive.

Maddeningly indifferent.

The echo of the door bolt sliding home seemed to carry on for an age.

That was when the real pain set in. It was as if the constant blows had somehow distracted his brain from allowing all the messages through while it was happening, but now every single nerve ending in his back screamed out in protest at their abuse.

The only saving grace he could focus on was that the meal meant the day was nearing its end. That was the final beating for today. Now he had a few hours to recover before the whole routine started afresh tomorrow.

He prayed for rescue as his pain and exhaustion succumbed to darkness…

oooOOOOooo

Against all the odds, Sheppard realised he had slept as the sound of the bolt on his cell door drawing back jerked him into reluctant wakefulness. His rest had been littered with nightmares, no doubt fuelled by the pain still lingering in his shredded back. The only thought that consciously formed as he woke was that he hoped no one took off their belt this time.

Thankfully they didn't, and he peered up long enough to see that the three men were, instead, building a fire in a small brazier they'd brought along with them. He somehow doubted the fire was for his benefit and he was honestly warm enough without it. Sheppard wiped sweat from his eyes on his biceps to clear his vision, but his thinking was duller than yesterday. He really didn't like the way he felt. A little voice in his head was screaming the dreaded 'i' word, but he doubted a jab of antibiotics was on today's to-do list.

The heat from the fire was slow to build, but eventually it began to permeate the damp cell, making it uncomfortably warm and so much harder to breath. One of the heavies began to stoke the flames, prodding and poking at the logs until it got fully burning and the flames licked higher. He set the poker down and left the end of it resting in the flames. The action wasn't lost on Sheppard. He guessed he could figure out what today's fun activity would be.

His brain screamed out insults and questions his mouth refused to voice. If he spoke, they would know they were getting to him. He would keep up the selective mutism for as long as they did. He stubbornly refused to be the first to break, especially since he doubted talking would get him out of this anyway.

The three of them stood back against the walls and faced him, hands behind their backs, waiting for something.

But for what?

Footsteps…

He'd been here at least three days by his reckoning and in all that time he'd only seen these same three men. Now someone else was on the way. Someone these three men reported to if their body language was anything to judge by. This could be a sign that things were about to escalate, which was just what this situation didn't need. Heart pounding, he fought to contain his rising panic, determined to keep his dignity in the face of whatever was to come.

The footfalls were slow, steady, not heavy, but not light either. He judged it to be someone of his weight, perhaps older judging from the speed of movement, although it was possible that the pace was simply to add dramatic effect. Honestly, he'd had just about as much drama as he could take over the past few days. His frayed nerves could barely take the suspense.

The footsteps came to a halt outside the cell door, and at that point brute number two pulled something from his pocket and stepped forward, tugging a thick, air-stealing cloth sack down over Shepard's head. Just when he'd thought breathing was hard enough...

The sound of the door swinging open took on a more ominous pitch through his hood, muffled and echoey, as if heard through an eerie fog. The footsteps started up once more, coming closer, though how close was uncertain. Then he heard it again – the sound of the poker clanging against the brazier as it stoked up the fire. Was that the new arrival, or was one of the three stooges following some unspoken instruction?

Who it was really paled into insignificance as the hot metal brushed his loin on the right side, making him jolt and writhe and suck in a sharp breath through his tightly clenched teeth. His skin stung, crying out for a soothing compress. He doubted anyone here was about to help him out with that.

The next stroke traced the back of his left thigh, the smell of burning hair penetrating the sackcloth as his leg buckled beneath him. The agony in his wrists and shoulders momentarily took his mind off his scorched skin, but only momentarily, as the pain in his fresh burns began to build incrementally with every passing, silent second.

The next contact, somewhat predictably, came dead centre of his back, cauterising an area of torn flesh over his lower spine. That one dragged a scream from him despite his determination to give them no such reaction.

The poker pulled away. It did not make contact again.

'So, you do feel pain,' a mechanically distorted voice stated, as if they hadn't truly been certain. Someone was going to great lengths to conceal their identity. 'Which means that thus far you have either been incredibly brave…or incredibly stupid.'

A compliment, although one rescinded as soon as it was handed out. Yet another attempt to demean him.

'I'd just like…to point out that…those two things…don't have to be…mutually exclusive,' he panted through his pain, diffusing any intended insult. But even though the sack made his voice sound oddly muffled to his ears, he doubted the others had missed the slight edge of panic he'd been trying to contain.

'He said you were an intelligent man…a worthy adversary. I think he was even a little afraid of you…not that he would thank me for saying that,' the newcomer told him.

_He? He who?_ Sheppard listened intently, hoping for clues as to the identity of this stranger. The only thing he could glean from what had been said so far was that they didn't know each other personally, rather they shared an acquaintance — a male who wasn't too fond of him. He could think of a few.

'I, however, am not afraid of you.'

The distorted, static-laden voice did nothing to dull the implied threat of those words. Sheppard gulped down the knot of anxiety rising in his craw, thankful that the sack smothering his head would hide his actions from view.

Fingers now grasped his chin through the coarse cloth, gripping his jaw firmly and forcing it up from his chest where his head had sagged. The faintest hint of light filtered in to him, an orange glow from the fire, but he could make out nothing of the person presumably standing in front of him. They were a silhouette…a shadow.

'I confess, I was expecting you to be older.'

That seemed like an odd comment. Out of place. Why would he think that?

'I never expected him to be afraid of a relative youngster.'

An older male? That narrowed it down some. But he'd offended a few people in his years in Pegasus so he didn't want to jump to conclusions.

'Flattery won't get you anywhere,' he quipped.

A fist to his left kidney warned him that his jokes weren't appreciated. It doubled him up, wrenching his shoulders and wrists again. He groaned, swinging sideways and then doing his best to regain his tentative balance.

'The great Colonel Sheppard brought low,' the voice taunted. 'Where is your arrogance now? You wreak of filth and sweat. I can barely stand to be near you.'

'Yeah…well…the facilities here are somewhat lacking,' he drawled, tensing as he waited for another blow.

Instead, his captor let go of his face and reluctantly huffed out a laugh. 'Then you'll be delighted to hear that you've outstayed your welcome.'

Delighted wasn't exactly the word he would have chosen. The blood turned to ice in Sheppard's veins. That statement had the ominous air of a death threat, and while he'd wished for such a release numerous times over these past few days, now he was faced with the reality of his mortality, he realised he wanted to live. But more than that, he had to maintain his self-respect. If they were going to kill him, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop them. So, he wouldn't try. And he absolutely wouldn't show fear.

Sheppard lifted his chin of his own accord, staring at the silhouette he could see through the sacking. 'That's okay. I was getting pretty sick of this place anyway.'

'Get rid of him,' the voice barked.

The shadow in front of him disappeared in an instant. Sheppard's body began to tremble involuntarily in anticipation of his impending demise. Many times in his life he had looked death square in the eyes and challenged it to come get him, and by some miracle he had always come out of it alive. But this time he was not in control. He couldn't do anything to save himself. And no one was coming for him.

Someone started tugging at his manacles, and in a couple of seconds they came loose. Sheppard didn't have time to ready himself, spilling to his knees, his arms hanging limp and useless at his sides. Oh, God, they hurt so much. Not that it mattered much he realised, as he felt the muzzle of a gun nudge the nape of his neck.

'Don't move and this will all be over quickly,' a gruff voice told him. He vaguely wondered which of the three of them that was, then it dawned on him through the haze of his thundering heart and the blood rushing in his ears that the weapon about to obliterate him had three barrels.

Of course it would be the Genii.

Then, just as he thought the shots would rip through his skull and end it all, a needle pierced the skin in his neck and his brain went on a welcome, if unscheduled, vacation.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. This will be a three chapter story, with the rest of them being posted by the end of the week once my edits are done.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Being topside in the sun was a shock to the system after three days in the dismal dungeons of their captors.

Ronon squinted against the brilliant sunlight, wishing his hands were free so he could shield his eyes, but no such luck. The cowards now marching them at gunpoint to the Stargate weren't taking any unnecessary chances and had tied their hands behind their backs. He couldn't blame them. If he could get even one hand free, he would happily tear their heads off. Ronon knew he was good, as was Teyla, and if their hands were tied in front of them, they would most likely be able to take these guys on and go back for Sheppard. Like this, they were at too much of a disadvantage. He would wait. Maybe at some point they would make the mistake of removing his bindings…

For three whole days they'd been holed up in a damp cell with no clue why they were being held. Three days with not a single sighting of Sheppard and not a single word from their guards. Their silence hadn't bothered him at first because he wasn't much for talking himself, but when time and time again they'd refused to answer Teyla and Rodney's questions about Sheppard's whereabouts, it had begun to eat away at his patience…and that was normally in short supply anyway. One time he'd been quick enough to catch the wrist of the guard sliding their food in through a hatch at the bottom of the cell door. He'd jerked him forward, even heard his head slam against the solid wood. But then seconds later they'd been rushed by about a dozen or so armed men and he'd been stunned into submission. Not that he gave a damn about a stunning. He'd had enough of those to shake them off pretty fast. Surprisingly, no further punishment had been forthcoming, despite McKay's insistence that he'd signed their death warrants with his Conan act.

After that, their food tray had been shoved in with a pole, removing his opportunity to strike again. He'd waited, seething, figuring that eventually someone would show up who wanted something from them. Information, a chance at self-aggrandisement, target practice. But no one said a word -not a question, not a joke, not even a petty insult. It was as if their being there was inconsequential.

So apparently, now, they were being set free. None of them felt good about it. In his heart, he'd half-hoped they'd meet up with Sheppard on the way to the surface and they'd all be sent on their way together. But as they'd exited their underground prison it had been painfully clear that Sheppard was not returning with them. Whatever these people wanted, it involved Sheppard alone.

At the Stargate Teyla once again asked the question that sat heavily on all their minds. 'Please…tell us where our friend is. He has done no harm to you. Why would you keep him from us?'

Without acknowledging her words, one of their armed escorts began silently dialling a 'gate address. The others, five of them, watched on impassively. Not one of them opened their mouth to answer.

'What's wrong with you? Too stupid to put a simple sentence together, hmmm?' McKay goaded, his face red with fury. 'Conversation too tough for you knuckle-draggers?'

One of the men's eyes flicked in Rodney's direction, and for just a second it looked as though he might say something in return. But at the last moment he seemed to think better of it, averting his gaze to his colleague dialling the DHD and refusing to rise to the abuse. Rodney backed down, his sarcasm swiftly giving way to despair. Nothing they tried worked. No one was going to tell them where Sheppard was.

Ronon could feel Teyla's ire, the fury that burned deep in her even as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. He knew she was thinking what he was thinking. That these bastards had killed Sheppard and that was why they wouldn't talk about him. 'I hope one day the Wraith find you. Maybe then you will break your silence when you are forced to beg for your lives,' she hissed, glowering at each one of them in turn. 'It will be no more than you deserve.' It was the worst curse that could be uttered in the Pegasus galaxy. No one wished death at the hands of the Wraith on another lightly. It would leave them in no doubt of her contempt for them, yet if they were shaken by her words, they showed no outward sign of it. Their faces registered no flicker of emotion.

The event horizon erupted into life with a rush, then settled back into an enticing pool of shimmering light. The men began pushing them all toward it, apparently now keen to be rid of them. Teyla and Rodney tried in vain to persuade the men to give them answers, but in the end, they were pushed through the wormhole to who-knew-where without any answers forthcoming.

It occurred to Ronon that he had no idea where the Stargate was sending them. Certainly not Atlantis, but was their destination safe? Was it a planetary 'gate or one orbiting a planet? He dug in, anchoring his great bulk down to make sure he had time to share what could be his last thoughts with them before he departed. 'If you've harmed Sheppard,' he growled, 'I will kill every one of you.'

For just a second, he fancied he saw a flicker of concern on a few of their faces, but it was soon masked. He smirked, and before they could force him to move, he stepped backward through the Stargate, a fierce grin splitting his face…

oooOOOooo

A warm breeze blew across Sheppard's body. It agitated the skin on his torn back into a cacophony of agonies that drove him to a state of wakefulness he really wasn't ready to embrace. He snapped his head up, eyes open, immediately regretting it as sunlight blinded him. He dropped his head back to the ground and closed them again, too exhausted and pained to even think of moving again.

So…not dead then?

He supposed he should be relieved, but right now all he could muster was a sense of mild disappointment. Up until a second or two ago, he'd been passed out in a dreamless slumber and it hadn't been half bad. Now, instead of being dead, he was lying on his side with grit pressing into his perspiration-soaked, battered skin and the headache to end all headaches. If he was honest, he was struggling to see the upside to this turn of events.

Everything he'd been through, all the tortures, all the deprivations, every word in that last conversation, had been planned and weaponised to put the fear of God into him. To make him think he was going to die. Pure psychological warfare. And for what? He still knew little about them other than that they possessed a Genii weapon, and although that most likely meant they were Genii, at this point that was only an assumption. Assumptions could be dangerous things, and he tried not to indulge in them as a rule. So, all he had was a Genii gun as his single clue to the identity of his kidnappers. That and the fact he'd pissed of some older male enough to send his lackeys after him. Older male Genii? He'd known a couple, but neither of them was still around. Urgh! This not knowing was driving him nuts. That was incentive enough to tell him he had to get back home and start investigating.

He cracked his lids a fraction, allowing in a little daylight so he could gradually become accustomed to it again. It had only been three days, but with nothing more than candlelight to illuminate his cell his eyes had grown painfully unused to anything brighter. Photosensitivity. He could add that to the list of problems Keller would pop down on his charts. Considering how his body felt, it was going to be one hell of an inventory.

When he could eventually bring things into focus, he realised he was at the top of a rise, laid out on a patch of stony ground looking down into a lush green valley. Beyond that, at a distance of some two miles or so, there was a lake glistening in the sunlight, with birds taking off from and landing on its shimmering surface. It was beautiful, even from this angle, but he didn't have a clue where he was or how he'd got here. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Some clues were etched into the dirt around him; wheel and animal tracks. They'd used a cart to get him up here, wherever _here_ was.

Breathing easier than he had in days despite the ache in his ribs, Sheppard savoured the clean, fresh air and remained very still, unable to motivate himself to move at all. Everything hurt, and he knew the pain levels would increase at least ten-fold if he put his body under any form of duress. He just wanted to lie here until the aches all went away.

_If you do that, you'll die…and you don't want to die, remember?_

Yeah, he vaguely remembered thinking that when he'd had the barrel of a gun pointed at his head, but the urgency had left him, as had the adrenaline those thoughts had unleashed. Now he just wanted to sleep.

And drink.

He was so damned thirsty.

Of course, there was a lake of what looked like cool, fresh water a couple of miles ahead of him. And it was downhill, so at least there was that. He lifted his head and ventured a look around him. From the corner of his eye he could see something dark piled up near him. Could it be?

He rolled a little, hissing as the scabbed-over cuts on his back pulled open again. But he could see now that his clothes and boots had been left in a disordered heap beside him, dumped jut as he had been. He really hadn't expected that. He could pull on a shirt at least. Might stop the dusty breeze hurting his back so much.

His arms, mostly numb and next to useless, refused his first few mental urges to push him up, but with a great effort he was able to get them to move where he needed them to be to roll onto his knees and that was at least a start. He fumbled through the pile of clothing, alarmed by the lack of sensation in his fingertips, but able to grasp his clothing with great concentration and visual confirmation that he had a tight grip on them. His T-shirt would have been an impossible item to pull on in his current state, so he settled for his BDU shirt, and with much panting and pausing between waves of pain, he cautiously slid it on and allowed the fabric to settle over his wounds. It hurt, but it was somehow reassuring to have some clothing other than his boxers covering his battered body. It made him feel less vulnerable, he supposed. It was no surprise that his weapons and tac vest were missing, of course. Why would they leave him with anything as useful as that? They might increase his chance of survival, and he had the distinct feeling that wasn't in their plan. They'd left him with enough things to give him hope, but if he wanted to live, he was going to have to work for it.

He eyed his pants and boots now. He needed them, but just pulling on the shirt had almost wiped him out. It wasn't a question of whether he needed them, rather of whether he could get them on. He sat a moment, flexing his fingers as painful pins and needles set in. The manacles had cut deep, and the skin around his wrists was hot and swollen, probably the source of the infection his body was so desperately trying to fight. He knew enough about torture to know he also had some type of nerve damage and circulatory issues going on from the cuffs, not to mention all the muscle strains to go with them. He figured his shredded back was the least of his worries…as were his cracked ribs. If he was lucky, it was nerve compression and things might return to normal with some relatively non-invasive treatment and physical therapy. If not, he was looking at surgery, and that would put him out of commission for months, if not longer.

_If _he ever got back to Atlantis.

'You can do this, John,' he told himself, not feeling entirely convinced even as the words left his mouth. He groped through the pile to grasp his pants and pulled them toward him, pausing again when that effort also left him breathless. There was discomfort high up on the left side of his abdomen. The skin was dark with purple and black bruising just where the worst of the sensitivity was. He tried to see if it felt more rigid than usual, but his fingers gave him no feedback even as the pain spiked under his touch. It could be an internal bleed, but he hoped not. If he was lucky it was just bad bruising. He forced himself to focus. Was he going to sit here all day assessing his condition, or was he going to get to the Stargate where he could find people who could put things right for him?

After mentally preparing himself, he sat back on his butt and put his legs out in front of him, sliding his feet into the waistband and steering his legs in. Several times he lost grip when his feet got caught up in the fabric, cursing and trying again, hoping this time he had a good hold on them. Eventually, on the fourth attempt he managed to get them up far enough that he could roll back to his knees and hoist the waist up over his hips. Fastening them was almost impossible, but refusing to give up, he eventually secured them in place. Once again exhausted, he dropped onto his side and rested until he had enough energy to even think about dragging on his boots.

Finally, with more effort than he thought himself capable of, he was adequately dressed to make the journey – shirt on and hanging loose, pants in place, and boots on with the laces tucked in where he couldn't trip on them. He wasn't fit to pass a uniform check, but he was decent, and that was all that mattered right now.

Sheppard sat a while, hunched over, arms resting on his knees, gathering his strength while he surveyed his surroundings. Two miles downhill over uneven ground. On a normal day that would be a cakewalk, but today…

He stopped mid-thought, shielding his eyes against the sun to peer across the landscape. Was that a...? Oh, yes it was. In amongst a copse of trees he spied the vague outline of a Stargate set approximately another mile further on from the lake.

Two miles downhill plus another one on the flat. The sun was climbing, the heat building. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now. Setting his jaw, he pushed up, wobbled, almost blacked out, then found his balance. Every muscle in his body protested at once and his brain swam, and for a moment he thought about just sitting right back down again and giving up. But no, there was no way he was giving those bastards the satisfaction of coming back and finding him a sunburned husk if they chose to check up on him. They'd left him here to die. They would be disappointed.

Step after faltering step he began moving forward, all the time focusing on the lake. That was the first part of the journey, and that was all he would think about for now. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other, eating up the ground between him and the water a tiny piece at a time. Occasionally he stumbled and fell, sometimes tripping, sometimes losing consciousness for a few seconds, but he didn't hesitate to pick himself up and continue. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind. It was an inconvenience, but it wouldn't stop him. He would get to that lake, and then he would take a few minutes to rest while he drank some water. He desperately wanted that water.

It occurred to him as he walked that this was merely an extension of his previous tortures. They'd known he was alive when they'd abandoned him, and they'd deliberately left him in a place where he could see the things he needed but had little hope of reaching them. Every step stole a little more energy, sapping him of his will and ability to continue. Thoughts of his pain had crept in again and he forced them down, refusing to acknowledge them. He would take this torture and get through it, just like he had for the past three days. He wouldn't let those bastards beat him when help was so close.

He had no idea how long it took, all he knew was that it felt like an eternity as the sun got warmer and his body more fatigued. The stumbles became more frequent, each one knocking a little more resilience out of him than the one before. But he continued to pick himself up, if a little more slowly each time, and forged on with his trek. Eventually, sheer stubbornness carried him to his destination, and he collapsed to his hands and knees at the water's edge, almost too exhausted to drink. Stretching out flat on his stomach, he scooped a numb handful up and sipped at it. The coolness he knew he should feel in his hand was distant, almost as if he was remembering it rather than experiencing it at that precise moment. It was the oddest feeling, but it didn't stop him getting the drink he so desperately needed. The soothing coolness was sheer bliss as it slithered down his throat and eased his dry mouth.

A few mouthfuls later and he folded his arms in front of him, resting his head on them for just a few moments. The temptation to sleep was intense, but he knew he couldn't allow himself that luxury. He had no idea what might be lurking on this planet so far unseen, and a beautiful watering hole like this would be just the kind of place to lure potentially dangerous animals in. It wouldn't do to get his head chewed off by the Pegasus equivalent of a lion after the lengths he'd gone to to get here. So, he allowed himself just a few moments of rest before pushing up to his hands and knees, splashing his face to revive his flagging will, and then getting back up to his feet again. As he was about to set off something caught his eye a few yards away. There, lying at the edge of the water on top of the thick grass was a canteen. Just lying there plain as day. It was obviously a recent arrival because it had pushed the grass down beneath it rather than being overgrown. Seriously? They'd left him a canteen? Did they want him dead or not?

He trudged over to it, picked it up and unscrewed the lid, tentatively sniffing at it. The canteen was empty but had an odd smell to it. Almonds. With a sigh, he tossed it to the ground and returned to the water to wash his hands. They'd left it there in the hope of finishing him off if he made it that far. The flask was coated in something like cyanide. If he'd taken a drink from it, that would have been the end of him. They'd figured on him being so desperate to take water along on the final stretch of the journey that he wouldn't check the flask.

A slimy green hand rose from the water, grasping his right arm. The rest of the body followed – sleek, dark hair pinned back by a headdress, a thick collar around her long neck leading into her dark fitted dress. Not her…she was dead…they'd killed her…hadn't they? He'd emptied his gun into her. There was no way…no way!

As the Wraith queen slammed her feeding hand into his chest it passed right through him, her image evaporating. Sheppard fell back, shaking. He'd imagined that? Thank God, but damn, did his brain have crappy timing. Hallucinations now? Really?

Once his heartbeat steadied, he staggered back to his feet. Just one more mile. He could do this.

He set off again, swiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. It was hot now, but he knew that was the only reason he was losing precious fluids. His whole body was developing a kind of sickly feverish ache and seemed to be generating heat of its own volition, although his skin was a mass of gooseflesh whenever even the slightest breeze touched him. Yep, definitely an infection. He'd had enough of them in his time to recognise the signs. This was so not good. But he'd made it this far, he wasn't about to let a few microscopic bacteria finish him off now.

Setting his sights on the copse of trees he knew enclosed the Stargate, he began the mammoth effort of reaching it before his body had other ideas. Thoughts swam through his brain, some clear, some more abstract. He thought about his team…wondered whether they had been set free too, or maybe had never even been captured. Then he worried about the fact they could still be in the clutches of his torturers. What if it was someone else's turn to take the beatings? Ronon could take it, and Teyla was tougher than she looked, but Rodney…the confinement alone would drive him nuts…cooped up there inside the belly of the whale.

Sheppard faltered to a stop. Where the hell had that come from? Sure, Rodney hated whales – he'd seen that first hand in that nightmarish mind-meld they'd gone through to get rid of his evil twin a few weeks back. In the back of his mind he heard a whale surface somewhere in the lake he'd left behind, shooting a spout of water out of his blow-hole. No way was that real, he told himself, refusing to look back.

_'Keep going, Airman,'_ his old military training instructor's voice now snapped, right by his left ear. _'There's no room in the USAF for quitters!'_

Sheppard flinched at the volume, his ear ringing for minutes after the phantom admonishment.

'Keep it together, John. Not much further,' he told himself, stumbling on.

Of course, he'd have to dial the alpha site since he didn't have any way of communicating with Atlantis. If he tried to go there, he'd end up like a bug splat on a windshield. He froze as he heard a skittering noise, looking down to see a blur of motion near his boots. Bugs! He stamped furiously at the dark shapes squirming around his feet, but didn't catch a single one.

And then they were gone. All of them in an instant.

He cursed himself under his breath for wasting vital energy on yet another fevered delusion. _Ignore everything but the Stargate…stay focused, _he ordered himself.

Three quarters of a mile to go, no more. He swiped the sweat from his eyes on his sleeve. 'You got this,' he rasped, striking out again.

Every step sent waves of sickening pain through him now. Sweat streaked down his face and soaked through his clothes, leaving them cloying uncomfortably to his abused skin. Maybe if he just sat down and rested a while.

_'Not on my watch, Airman!'_ his MTI yelled, driving him on.

'Keep it down, would you?' he grumbled, pressing his hands against his ears to stop the ringing.

The sun beat down, and he could see his forearms reddening, felt tightness in the skin of his face and the dryness of his parched lips. Walking became almost impossible. He dropped to his knees at least a dozen times, all the time his MTI screaming at him to get up, keep moving, don't quit. Much as he hated that voice, it was the one thing that forced him on. The man had been a complete bastard. He'd called him and many other recruits pussies and far worse more times than he cared to remember during his training, and even if he wasn't really here, Sheppard was determined to show him what he was made of.

Through sheer will he eventually made it, despite all the obstacles and dark thoughts his brewing infection threw at him. He slumped across the DHD, trying to call to mind the dialling sequence for the alpha site. It wasn't easy; so many random and asinine thoughts were popping up unbidden now that his memory felt crowded out of his skull. He slid down to the ground, leaned his shoulder against the DHD and closed his eyes to shut out any outside stimulus, hoping that would clear his thinking. He just needed a moment of quiet to set his thoughts straight.

The address flashed into his mind in a sudden moment of clarity and he hauled himself up, slamming his hand on each symbol in turn before it could slip away from him again. The centre button engaged the wormhole and it flashed into life with an overwhelming rush that burned his eyes and almost burst his eardrums.

He let go of the DHD and staggered a few steps toward the gate, his legs buckling beneath him. He tried to rise again, but now his arms became useless and he fell on his face at the base of the concrete plinth the Stargate sat on.

He lifted his head to look once more into the shimmering event horizon, his heart sinking as his vision tunnelled.

If he'd just had a few seconds more…

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone leaving reviews, favouriting and following the story. It's good to know there's still an audience for these tales after all these years! Final chapter should be up by Friday. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Teyla stepped through the gate to Atlantis, with Rodney and Ronon following swiftly behind her. Though it was wonderful to see the city again, her heart ached that John had not returned along with them.

Colonel Carter approached as soon as they were through, her expression a portrait of compassion. 'Welcome home,' she said, offering up a sympathetic smile. 'Report to the infirmary. We'll debrief in an hour.'

'I'm not hurt,' Ronon grunted, almost shouldering Sam out of the way as he took off in the opposite direction to the infirmary.

'He is upset,' Teyla explained. 'We all are. I'll make sure he is at the meeting.'

Sam stroked Teyla's arm. 'Thanks, Teyla. I'd appreciate that. I know this is hard on all of you, but anything small detail any of you can give me might help us find John. Now, go get yourselves checked over and I'll see you both soon.'

Sam already knew the vague details of their imprisonment and the fact they hadn't seen Sheppard in days. That much information had been relayed by the personnel at the alpha site while they'd been checked over for any unwanted bugging devices or alien tech that might have been implanted in them. It was standard procedure for anyone passing through the alpha site unscheduled. They couldn't take the risk of sending a compromised expedition member back to Atlantis itself. Ronon, predictably, had been furious at the delay, and had taken quite some placating to go through with the process. Rodney, too, had grumbled, but was more accepting, understanding the need to reduce the threat despite his frustration. Teyla, exhausted by trying to keep her friends in line while wracked with worry herself, had simply allowed them to prod, poke and question her without complaint. She had been determined to do whatever was necessary as quickly as possible so that they could return to the Ancestral city and begin their search.

Teyla watched Sam walk away, noting that her shoulders were slumped lower than usual. The colonel and John had a good working relationship based on friendship and mutual respect. Teyla knew the fact he was missing would hit her hard too, but the city didn't run itself, and Sam had many other things that demanded her attention. Life went on, with or without John Sheppard.

'Can you believe that?' Rodney grumbled as they walked to the infirmary flanked by a couple of medical staff. 'She'll see us in an hour? Why isn't she sending every available team out looking for Sheppard right now?'

'Because we have no idea where to look for him, Rodney. And she cannot risk losing more personnel by rushing blindly into a rescue mission,' Teyla explained, though she knew full-well that Rodney already knew the answer.

Rodney snorted out a huff. 'If she was the one missing, do you think Sheppard would hesitate to get out there looking for her?'

'I do not. But John sometimes makes rash decisions based on emotions and is often lucky to escape with his life. Colonel Carter is more measured in her approach. I do not see that as a failing, just as I appreciate that John's approach is unconventional but often works.'

'She could at least try to look worried. She didn't even mention him,' Rodney griped, casting an irritating and instantly silencing stare at the nurse at his left who was doing her best to suggest he calm down.

Teyla stopped, and a second later Rodney realised she was no longer beside him and turned to look back at her. 'What's up?'

'Colonel Carter has to remain impartial, Rodney. It is a requirement of her position here as commander of your expedition. Do you honestly think she feels nothing about John's disappearance?'

Rodney dropped his gaze to his boots, instantly chastened. 'No…of course not.'

Teyla sighed and tilted her head as she regarded him patiently. 'I know you are frustrated, Rodney, as am I. But you are channelling your anger at the wrong person. Colonel Carter will do everything in her power to find John without putting anyone else in unnecessary danger. I imagine she is already following what few clues we have given of the location of the planet we were held on. We will find him, Rodney. It just may take a little time.'

After a second or two more thought, Rodney nodded. 'You're right. I just…I feel so useless.'

Teyla furrowed her brow and pulled Rodney into an awkward hug which he did not return, not that she had expected he would. 'I understand. I feel the same way.'

'You don't think they killed him, do you?' she heard him say quietly into her shoulder.

'No.' She pushed him back, her hands gripping his upper arms tightly. 'I believe he is out there somewhere waiting for us to find him. Now we should go to the infirmary as Colonel Carter instructed so we can begin to do just that.'

His eyes held her gaze, full of worry, then he gave a sharp nod. 'Let's go.'

They made the rest of the journey in silence, Teyla hoping her assurances were not simply so much wishful thinking.

oooOOOooo

An hour later, they were all sitting in the conference room waiting for Sam to arrive. Teyla had persuaded Ronon to attend despite his furious assertion that they should be out there already looking for Sheppard, not sitting around chatting. It hadn't been easy, but now he sat beside her, simmering like a cooking pot on the verge of boiling over.

Carter turned up a few minutes later, apologising for her tardiness. She asked how they all were again, a simple courtesy since she had most likely already received news that they had been given a clean bill of health. Then she asked them to go over everything they remembered of the three days they had been held prisoner.

They individually told their stories, one after the other, reiterating that their captors had not spoken and had given no clue as to their identities or their motives, and that in all the time they had been in the cell they had not seen any sign of Sheppard.

'I think the fact that they kept you there for three days could be a good sign,' Sam offered up as they finished their verbal reports. 'I suspect they kept you there so you couldn't come back to report the ambush and mount a rescue. There was no other reason to hold onto you if they didn't communicate with you in any way. That means Sheppard could still be alive.'

'Or he was up until the point they released us,' Rodney replied, voicing the dreadful thought Teyla had imagined at exactly the same moment. She watched Ronon's fists clench on the table top beside her. He was a powerful man, not blessed with patience. His anger needed an opportunity to vent itself. She hoped he did not decide this meeting was the place for that.

'Are we studying the DHD of the planet we travelled to the alpha site from?' she asked, trying to change the course of the conversation.

'Radek is out there now with SGA5 collecting 'gate addresses from its memory. That should give us some avenues to investigate,' Sam reported, offering up a tight smile.

'They'll have already moved him,' Ronon grunted. 'They wouldn't risk keeping him there now we're out.'

'Unless they get complacent,' Sam replied. 'They may not appreciate how easily we can collect information and backtrack through a DHD's dialling record.'

'So, we're basing all our hopes on complacency?' Rodney snorted. 'That's not much of a plan.'

'Not all our hopes, Rodney, no,' Sam replied, fixing him with a hard stare. She stopped short of admonishing him, and Teyla suspected she was being lenient because Rodney did not cope well in such stressful situations.

'I hope for John's sake that their arrogance leads them to make such a mistake,' Teyla murmured. The thought of never finding John, never knowing what had become of him, left her with a sense of despair few other things could cause. It felt like she was missing a piece of herself. As she pondered that, Teyla became aware that the Stargate had begun to receive an incoming dialling sequence.

Sam checked her watch. 'That's odd. No one's scheduled back just yet. If you'll excuse me a moment…'

She pushed up from her chair and headed out of the room, leaving Teyla and her teammates looking around at each other. A tiny spark of hope ignited in Teyla's heart.

'You don't think it could be…' Rodney ventured, not finishing his sentence.

'Let's find out.' Ronon was out of his seat and through the door before he even finished speaking. Teyla jumped up to follow him, sensing Rodney close on her heels.

They sprinted down the stairs from Carter's office and across to the control room, gathering behind Chuck as he announced his findings.

'It's the alpha site, Colonel. We're receiving video communications.'

The alpha site? They had only just returned from there themselves a little over an hour ago. It was the place all Atlantis expedition members knew they should 'gate to if delayed and their GDO code was locked out of the system. If no other team was late, that surely could only mean one thing…

'Put it up on screen,' Sam ordered, lifting her gaze to look at the nearest display.

A face came into view, one Teyla recognised as Lieutenant Archer, who had been there to greet them as they'd stepped through the Stargate. 'Atlantis, this is the alpha site. Are you receiving us?'

'We hear you, Lieutenant. What's the problem?' Sam instantly responded.

The lieutenant got straight down to business. 'Thought you might like to know that someone dialled in approximately forty minutes ago, but no one came through. We had to wait for the Stargate to close down before we could communicate with you. We thought you might want to investigate it rather than send a team through ourselves and risk compromising to security of this site.'

The hope that had been rising inside her suddenly dissipated, and Teyla's stomach sank. The Stargate had been open for the full thirty-eight minutes for which it could sustain connection. Why would someone dial up the gate and not travel though? She could think of only one reason. The person or persons dialling in had been incapacitated.

'You did the right thing, Lieutenant. Send through the symbols and we'll check it out,' Carter ordered. 'We'll keep you apprised.'

A set of stargate symbols appeared in Chuck's monitor, and moments later the wormhole shut down.

'It could be Sheppard,' Ronon grunted, body tight and jaw clenched, ready to go. 'We should head through and find out.'

'Hold on there, Ronon,' Sam said, trying to cool his enthusiasm. 'I'm not about to send anyone through to an unknown destination until we've sent a MALP through and gathered some information.' She settled a hand on Chuck's shoulder. 'While we get that organised, can you dial up the destinations of the two teams we currently have off-world and check their status?'

'Yes. Ma'am,' he agreed with a sharp nod, beginning to dial up the first planet address.

Sam turned to the rest of them. 'Rodney –'

'On it,' he snapped, hurrying out of the control room, already speaking through his earpiece to the science team and ordering them to start preparing a MALP for deployment.

Sam turned her attention to Teyla and Ronon now. 'You two gear up. As soon as we get the all clear you can travel to whatever planet those symbols dial up and check things out.'

'Yes, Colonel,' Teyla nodded, glad to have something to do to take her mind of the gnawing sense of desolation threatening to consume her. She jogged away to the armoury, as Ronon took his own course to his room where he kept his energy magnum and sword concealed, all the time praying to the ancestors that this wasn't as and as it sounded.

They met up again as they returned to the control room, the MALP entering from the opposite direction with Rodney and a couple of other members of the science team running final checks even as the machine rolled into place in front of the Stargate.

'Dial it up!' Rodney ordered as soon as they got through the door, following the MALP until it came to a standstill a safe distance from the Stargate, while Ronon and Teyla mounted the stairs to the control area. They saw Chuck look to Colonel Carter for instruction. She simply dipped her head to show she agreed with Rodney, and the dialling sequence began.

Only a few moments later, SGA2, headed up by Major Lorne, and a three-man medical team led by Keller also appeared, geared up and ready to move out. Sam had prepared for every eventuality, it seemed.

The wormhole engaged in the usual flash of light and movement, and as soon as it settled, Rodney ordered Miko to send the MALP through while he darted up the steps to join his team to watch the telemetry in real time.

Very slowly, the MALP progressed through and was gradually swallowed up by the rippling event horizon. A few seconds later, they got their first view of the planet at the other end of the connection. The landscape appeared to be clear as Miko sent instructions for the mounted camera to pan around, taking in the view in an almost three-hundred-and-sixty-degree sweep. As the camera began to pan back in the opposite direction, something apparently caught Sam's eye.

'There. Pan down,' she ordered, pointing to something dark in the bottom corner of the monitor. As the camera moved down, it became clear it was a military issue boot, attached to a leg clad in black BDU pants. And the camera kept going, revealing Sheppard collapsed at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Stargate. What little of his face was visible looked as pale as snow.

Teyla gasped, and Ronon sprinted down the stairs and toward the Stargate in a pure gut reaction.

'Ronon, Wait!' Sam yelled after him, but the Satedan leapt through the event horizon before anyone could intervene.

Teyla, shaking with shock, gaped at Sam, loyally waiting for instruction. Apparently knowing she couldn't stop them, Sam looked at Rodney and Teyla and simply said 'I won't order any of you to go through, because we don't know if it's safe…'

'We're ready, Colonel,' Lorne assured her.

'As are we,' Teyla agreed, speaking on behalf of Rodney, who appeared to have lost the capacity to speak for himself.

Sam nodded, and that was all the signal they needed, Lorne and his team taking point, the rest of them following through. As she ran through the horizon, all Teyla could think about was how desperately John must have tried to reach safety. She prayed to the Ancestors that they weren't too late to save him.

Ronon had already rolled John onto his back before they got through the Stargate, Jennifer and her small team taking over as soon as they reached the base of the stairs. Ronon was almost as pale as John himself as he stepped back to give them room, muttering, 'I couldn't find a pulse.'

Teyla staggered to a halt, for a moment unable to breathe. She couldn't move or speak, frozen in place by Ronon's words. No…he couldn't be gone.

Jennifer felt above Sheppard's carotid artery, her expression remaining grave. A quick press at his wrist apparently did nothing to appease her concern, so she pulled out a stethoscope and put it to his chest, moving it every few seconds to a new area.

Teyla watched on in horror, Rodney at her side murmuring, 'Nonononono,' over and over as they watched the young doctor work. This couldn't be happening. A little over three days ago they had set out on a routine mission to check up on some villagers who had been the victims of a Wraith culling six months ago. How had it come to this?

Jennifer snatched the stethoscope from her ears and leaned in with her cheek a fraction above Sheppard's mouth. 'I found a weak heartbeat and he's breathing, just barely. We need to move him back to Atlantis and get him stabilized, STAT.'

Teyla finally took a breath. He wasn't dead. There was still hope. Her legs almost gave out, but Ronon seemed to sense it, catching her before she could fall. She clung to him, finding strength in his support. Only now, with the medical team urgently swinging into action, bagging John to keep him oxygenated, did it fully register with her the terrible physical condition John was in. He had been beaten mercilessly, and she doubted the marks she could see on the front of his torso were all the scars he bore.

'Why did they do this to him? We didn't know them…how could they be so cruel?'

'When I find them, they'll regret it,' Ronon promised.

She knew he meant it.

oooOOOooo

_Two days later…_

A low-level hum thrummed through Sheppard's brain.

_Atlantis._

He revelled in his sense of belonging, in the touch and scent of clean, smooth sheets…and the pain-numbing effects of morphine, if he wasn't mistaken. He didn't recall why he needed it, but he allowed himself a few minutes of self-indulgence to enjoy the feeling. Whatever had happened he was home and safe, that was all that mattered.

Except something was nagging at the back of his mind…something important. It was like trying to see through a thick fog. Everything in his memory was shrouded in an impenetrable mist. He mentally groped around, trying to find something he could grasp onto. And then, in an instant, the fog lifted and the memory of the three days of torture came flooding back in with a sudden rush.

His team! He'd left them behind.

He sat up with a start, jerking awake the man slumbering in the chair beside him.

Ronon's boots dropped from the edge of his bed to the floor as he leapt to his feet. 'Sheppard? You alright?'

Sheppard blinked back at him, wondering if he was real or another figment of his sick body and mind. 'Ronon?' he croaked. 'You're here?'

His friend frowned back at him, puzzled. 'Yeah, got here before you.'

Sheppard looked around the room, taking it all in, looking for any signs this wasn't real. 'Teyla? McKay?'

'Catchin' up on some sleep. They've been here all day waiting for you to wake up and Keller told 'em they had to go. Doctor's orders. I didn't listen.'

That made him smile. 'That doesn't sound like you,' he joked, relaxing back against his pillows and feeling a dull pain in his back at the pressure. He guessed he'd moved too quickly, and his body was letting him know that. 'So, you're all okay?'

'Other than the initial fight when we were ambushed, no one laid a finger on us,' Ronon shrugged. 'Can't say the same for you.'

Ronon picked up a glass of water from the table beside Sheppard's bed and held it out to him.

Sheppard shook his head, looking down at his hands, the wrists now wrapped in clean dressings. 'Can't feel much. I'd probably just drop it.'

Ronon obliged by bringing the glass close enough for him to reach the straw and take a few small sips, remembering not to drink too much too soon, just like he'd always been told. This wasn't his first rodeo.

'I'll get Keller,' Ronon told him, setting the glass back down at his bedside.

'Wait…do you know who they were…the ones that took us?' Sheppard asked hopefully, looking for some kind of closure. Or at least some way to make sense of it all.

The Satedan shook his head and gave another faint shrug. 'Thought you might know. They didn't say anything to us. Just kept us locked up, threw in some food and drink now and again, then marched us to the 'gate and dumped us on another planet to find our way home.' Ronon ambled out, leaving Sheppard to his thoughts.

It made no sense. There had to be a point to the violence his kidnappers had put him through, but they'd left him without a clue as to who they were or what their grievance was. If they'd meant to send him a message, it had all been a colossal waste of time. He was no wiser today than he had been the moment they pounced. But then, if they hadn't meant for him to survive…

Jennifer hurried in just a few seconds later, beaming broadly. 'Hey, Colonel. Good to see you awake.'

'How long was I out?' he asked, realising he had no idea how long it had been since he'd dialled the alpha site.

'We picked you up two days ago. Found you collapsed in front of the Stargate on P3L 890. Good thing we got to you when we did.'

'Close call?' he asked.

'Yeah. You wouldn't have wanted it to be any closer,' she told him, checking his vitals. 'How are you feeling?'

'Kind of out of it,' he replied. His brain seemed to be moving just a second slower than his actual head, a delay that was very disconcerting.

'Yeah, that'll be the morphine,' she explained. 'But, trust me, this feels a lot better than you would without it.'

'I don't doubt that for a second.' He tried to push up against his pillows but couldn't even feel the mattress beneath his hands. Keller stepped in, pulling him forward and rearranging pillows until he was a little more upright.

'Better?'

He nodded. 'Yeah, thanks.'

She stood back and regarded him a moment, as if pondering whether to say what was on her mind. She made the choice to come right out with it. 'Major Lorne and his team found the rest of your clothes on that planet while they were looking for clues. Traced your steps back for a little over three miles. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you to make that journey in the condition you were in, Colonel. That took some guts.'

He shrugged, a little embarrassed by her praise. 'I didn't really have a choice if I wanted to live.'

She chewed her lip, thinking something over again before spouting out, 'The new psychologist arrives on the Daedalus in a couple of weeks. Maybe you should consider making an appointment…you know…just to get things off your chest.'

He tensed but chose to be kind in his response as he knew she meant well. 'I'll consider it.'

'Great.' She perked up instantly now that the awkward exchange was over. 'Now we just have to get you all put back together physically and get you back on your feet.'

'How bad is it?' he asked. While the pain was muted like this, he figured he could handle the truth.

'Well, if you were a car, I'd write you off,' she joked, then cleared her throat as if uncomfortable with her choice of joke. 'Honestly, it'd probably be quickly to list what isn't wrong.'

'Doc…please…'

Her expression slipped into one of sombre agreement, and she nodded, starting over. 'Okay…where to start…Three cracked ribs on your left side, a fractured cheekbone on the right. You've got torn deltoid muscles in both your shoulders. Your wrists are infected, but I cleaned them up and put you on a course of IV antibiotics, so we're bringing that under control now.'

'I can't feel my hands,' he told her, figuring now was the time to mention it.

That information didn't seem to faze her. 'That's understandable. Judging by your injuries I'm guessing you were suspended from your wrists, right?'

He nodded.

'Scans showed some nerve compression, but once the worst of the damage begins to heal, we can try some physical therapy which should help you get the feeling back. But it's going to take time, Colonel. You need to be patient with yourself.'

This young woman had a pretty good measure of him already, he realised. She knew he would try to rush things, so she was warning him not to right from the get-go. 'Ok…good,' he said, just relieved she didn't think the damage was permanent.

'So where was…I? Oh, yeah. I'm not going to even try to list all the various contusions and lacerations I've treated and stitched up, but let's just say your back is a mess and it's going be pretty sore once we take you off the morphine. On top of that, you were severely dehydrated, not surprising considering how hot that planet was, so you're on IV fluids, too. Oh, and then there was the ruptured spleen –'

'Ruptured spleen?' He remembered the intense pain on his left side. That explained it.

'Thankfully it was a small rupture and I could suture it and save the spleen itself. That and a blood transfusion fixed you right up. But it was a close thing. Any worse and I don't think you would have made it.'

'Thanks, Doc. Sounds like you really earned your pay check.'

She grasped his hand, but if she squeezed it he couldn't really tell. 'You're welcome. I'm just glad to see you awake at last.'

The sound of a throat clearing alerted them both to the fact his whole team now hung back in the doorway, a little sleepy looking, but smiling with relief.

'But of course you would wait until 2am to wake up,' Rodney scoffed, trying to look angry. He failed dismally when a grin cracked his face.

'Sorry, Rodney,' Sheppard quipped. 'I kind of lost track of time.'

'You're forgiven,' McKay chirped, pushing his way into the room and dropping into the chair. 'Who needs sleep anyway?'

'It is so good to see you awake,' Teyla gushed, taking hold of his other hand. 'You have had us very worried these past two days.'

'All right, people,' Keller interrupted. 'You can have five minutes. Then I want you all in bed, understood?'

'Won't it be crowded?' Rodney replied, giving her a lopsided smirk.

Her face flushed with colour. 'You know that's not what I meant, Rodney. Five minutes then you have to leave,' she insisted, looking particularly at Ronon as she backed out the door. 'The colonel needs his rest.'

'Rest? He only just woke up,' McKay called back to her.

Teyla and Ronon exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes. 'Shut up, McKay,' Ronon grumbled, punching his arm.

Weird as it was watching Rodney's oafish attempts to flirt with Keller, Sheppard was glad to be back amongst friends. He'd honestly thought he would never see them again during his incarceration. He was glad to have proved himself wrong.

oooOOOooo

Two days after he woke, and finally free of his IV lines, Keller agreed that Sheppard could leave the infirmary for a short while, but only to take lunch with his teammates and enjoy some fresh air. He was strictly forbidden from any activity more strenuous than talking and eating, and she wouldn't take her eyes off him until Ronon arrived to take charge of the wheelchair she'd procured. She was a little young to mother hen him, but she was definitely trying her best.

In the end, she forced Ronon into a promise not to let Sheppard take even a single step while he was with him, which the Satedan solemnly agreed to while giving Sheppard a surreptitious wink. In all honesty, Sheppard had no intention of trying to walk. He was off the morphine now and his ribs ached, as did his shoulders and arms. His back and surgery scar throbbed, and everything else felt heavy and uncomfortable, so minimum movement was definitely the way to go as far as he was concerned.

They entered the mess hall, Ronon immediately steering him out onto the balcony where Rodney and Teyla were holding a table for them with a wonderful view of the ocean. The salty air was refreshing as the doors drew back, a stiff breeze buffeting him as Ronon wheeled him into a space beside Rodney, then went back inside to collect food for them both.

'You're looking better today,' McKay slurred around a mouthful of sandwich.

'Can't keep a good man down,' Sheppard replied, gazing out across the waters. The surface was choppy, and he couldn't help but imagine taking his board out and catching some waves. He was a long way from that though. Keller would have a fit if she knew the thought had even crossed his mind.

'Has Keller said when you'll be back on duty?'

Sheppard slid his gaze Rodney's way and smirked. 'I'm only allowed out of the infirmary for an hour on the understanding I don't leave this chair. I doubt she's ready to sign off on that just yet.'

'Seriously, the lengths you'll go to to get time off,' Rodney goaded, but the twinkle in his eye told Sheppard it was nothing more than a joke. 'There has to be an easier way.'

'Yeah, but where's the fun in that?' Sheppard asked, gaining an amused snort from Ronon as he returned and set a try down on the table in front of him. It held a selection of sandwiches, salad, and fruit, along with a glass of orange juice.

Sheppard looked down at the tray, and then back up at Ronon. 'What, no hot dogs?'

Teyla gave him a patient smile. 'Healthy food to help you heal. When I asked if you could eat with us, Jennifer was quite clear that we should ensure you ate a balanced meal.'

'So, no fries either, huh?' he quipped, grabbing one from Rodney's plate before anyone could stop him. The suddenness of his movement soon had him regretting the joke, especially as he dropped the fry anyway. Damn his numb fingers!

'That's your punishment for disobeying doctor's orders,' McKay jibed.

'Noted,' he grunted, getting a firm grip on an apple and munching down on that instead.

'It is good to see you up an about so soon,' Teyla said earnestly as she picked at her own meal. 'When we saw you on the telemetry from the MALP, I have to admit I feared the worst.'

'Me too,' Rodney muffled around a couple of fries he'd shoved in whole. 'I thought you were a goner for sure.'

'Yeah, well, fatigue and blood loss will do that to you,' he shrugged, wincing.

'Not to mention dehydration,' Teyla added.

'Yeah…not sure how I managed to get dehydrated. Those freaks poured enough water down my throat to last a month,' he grumbled, feeling a little sick at the remembrance of the forced feeding and drinking sessions. Suddenly the meal didn't seem all that appetising.

'They forced you to drink?' Rodney's eyes bulged, wide with shock.

'It wasn't the worst thing they did, Rodney,' Sheppard assured him. He had the scars to prove it.

They hadn't discussed what had happened during the three days he'd been missing. His friends were good like that. He knew they wanted to know, but they didn't push, trusting that he'd share the details when he was ready. He preferred it like that, dropping little snippets out in conversation so that it didn't seem like a laundry list of horror and the memories didn't overwhelm him. It took patience to let him fill in the gaps slowly, but it helped not to have to relive the events blow-by-blow.

'Well, it's a good thing you managed to dial the alpha site before you passed out,' Rodney added, suddenly serious, too. 'We would never have found you in time if you hadn't.'

'I know…Keller told me it was close,' Sheppard nodded, this time pushing down the recollection of just how hard that journey to the Stargate had been to make. And he almost hadn't made it. He was making a habit of that kind of thing since he'd been posted in Atlantis. It was one habit he would very much like to quit. 'I'm just glad you guys didn't get hurt, too.'

'Makes no sense,' Ronon grunted, and Sheppard could feel his friend's anger brewing even from across the table. 'I even roughed up one of their guys and they still never laid a finger on me. What was it they wanted with you?'

'That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,' Sheppard mused, then spotted the confused look on both Teyla and Ronon's faces. 'It's a game show,' he started to explain, before announcing, 'You know what…it doesn't matter.'

At that point Teyla responded to a voice coming through her earpiece. 'Yes, Colonel. He is here with us in the dining area. Yes…yes, of course. We'll be right there.' A frown puckered Teyla's brow as she turned to Sheppard. 'Colonel Carter has requested that you join her in the control room. Apparently, there is a message for you.'

'A message?' Sheppard repeated. Ronon was already out of the seat and grasping the handles of his wheelchair.

'Better get down there.' The rest of his team rose to go with them. It seemed they were all equally as intrigued as he was.

One trip in a transporter and a short walk for Ronon later, and they had arrived at Carter's side. She greeted them with a smile, one bereft of her usual natural warmth. 'I'm sorry to call you here like this, John, but someone dialled in from off world and they won't speak to anyone but you.'

The event horizon shimmered, casting its brilliant glow on the floor before it. It took on an eerily ominous hue he hadn't noticed before as Sheppard stared into it. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, his spidey senses telling him he wasn't going to like this call one bit. 'Did they give a name?'

Sam shook her head. 'No, all they said was that they knew they had contacted Atlantis and they wanted to speak to you. They wouldn't answer any questions.'

'Guess we'd better find out what they want then,' he said, taking a deep breath to prepare himself.

'Open the channel,' Carter order Chuck.

He dipped his head to Sheppard to show it was ready.

'This is Colonel Sheppard. Who am I talking to?'

A pause followed, a long few seconds of troubling silence, before a mechanised voice replied, _'I would imagine you know who this is, Sheppard.'_

His stomach sank like a stone. If he was honest with himself, he'd known exactly who the message would be from, but hearing the voice made it all the more real. His blood almost froze in his veins at the sound of it.

He gathered himself again to reply. 'Thing is, you hide behind that voice distortion and refuse to give me your name. So, no, I don't know who I'm talking to. I just know you're a coward.'

Another pause…and then quiet laughter.

That hadn't been the response he'd expected. Sheppard cast a confused glance around everyone gathered there. They all looked equally disturbed.

Finally, the voice spoke. _'I see your stay with us has done little to dampen your spirit.'_

So that was what beating the crap out of him was supposed to achieve? Spirit dampening?

'Sorry to disappoint you. It takes a lot more than that to shut me up.' His throat was dry, and he hoped he didn't sound as tense as he felt.

_'Your knack for survival is impressive,' _the voice replied._ 'We thought you would be too weak to reach the Stargate, or that one of the indigenous species of wildlife would devour you before you could. But no, here you are. In a way, I'm glad you feel so emboldened. Had I found you cowed and defeated, I might have felt sympathy and considered the price due paid. But since you show no remorse, I promise you will pay for your transgressions.'_

Transgressions? What the hell…?

At his side, he felt Sam stiffen and immediately respond. 'My name is Colonel Samantha Carter, commander of this expedition, and I don't appreciate you threaten—'

_'I care nothing for who you are,' _the voice boomed, static breaking up the words with the power of the assertion. _'You are insignificant.'_

Sam's jaw set, and she ground out, 'I think this conversation is o—'

Sheppard held up his hand. 'It's okay, Colonel. Let him have his say.' He addressed the mystery voice again. 'What exactly am I supposed to show remorse for?'

Yet another long pause, as if the owner of the voice was contemplating whether to share that information. Eventually, they made their decision. _'Do you remember a man called Acastus Kolya?'_

And now, with those few words, the torture and the three barrelled gun all made sense. He rolled his eyes to the gracefully vaulted ceiling and drawled, 'Name sounds kind of familiar…'

_'I would imagine so, since you murdered him.'_

Murder seemed an unfair choice of words since Kolya had forced his hand. 'He left me no choice,' Sheppard growled, angry that he was being held responsible for Kolya's bad decisions. 'He came after me and my friends. I killed him in self-defence. If I hadn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation now.'

_'It would be better for you if we weren't,' _the voice told him. Yet another implied threat.

Sheppard rolled his eyes again, growing as pissed off now as Sam was. Whoever this was, they weren't going to listen to his point of view. 'Well, it's been nice chatting, but if you've said all you need to say –'

_'I am not done with you, Colonel Sheppard,'_ the voice interrupted. Sheppard snapped his mouth shut and listened once again. _'You want to know who I am? My name is also Kolya and it falls on me to hold you accountable for your misdeeds. At a time and place of my choosing, the death of Acastus Kolya will be avenged. But I promise you this, your death will not be as swift as the end you dealt him.'_

The communication was suddenly cut, leaving only white noise in its wake. Carter ordered Chuck to close it down.

Sheppard paused, then tried to lighten the mood. 'Sounds reasonable.'

'So…it was the Genii then,' Sam said, turning to face him. 'At least now you know why you were singled out for the special treatment.'

'Rogue Genii. Supporters of Kolya,' Sheppard clarified. 'There was a split when Ladon Radim took power and some followed Kolya instead.'

Sam nodded, already formulating a plan. 'I think Ladon should be the first person we contact. He might have some intel on where we can find these Kolya loyalists. We need to figure out exactly who this new Kolya is and hunt him down before he comes after you.'

He nodded. 'That would be my preference. I'm not sold on the whole idea of a round two.'

Sam planted her hand on his shoulder. The touch was simultaneously uncomfortable and reassuring. 'I'm sorry you had to hear all that, John. I wish there'd been some other way to get them to talk.'

He shrugged. 'They put me through worse during my 'stay'.' A tension headache had started up in his temples and he suddenly realised how drained the whole exchange had left him.

Sam's brow furrowed into a concerned frown, as if he could read his thoughts. 'You should get yourself back to the infirmary. You look exhausted.'

'I will take you,' Teyla immediately offered, taking hold of his wheelchair as she began to push him for the door.

'I didn't even get my lunch,' he grumbled. 'Talk about bad timing.'

'I'll get more food for you,' Teyla promised. 'I might even see if Jennifer will allow a few fries this time.'

'Cool.' Not that it made the whole ominous death threat worthwhile, but he wasn't about to complain.

'So, are we putting in that call to the Genii?' he heard Rodney asked behind them, already pressing for action.

Sam assured him that it would be arranged as soon as possible, and the two of them exited via another door, Rodney all the time firing angry questions obviously fuelled by his fear of the threats levelled at Sheppard. He meant well, but Sheppard couldn't help but think Sam might handle it all a lot more efficiently if McKay gave her time and space to think.

'Sheppard.'

Ronon's voice stopped them both in their progress, and he looked back over his shoulder to see his friend still standing at Chuck's workstation, eyes burning, and fists clenched tight at his sides.

'We'll find them,' Ronon said, matter-of-fact. 'Well stop them.'

Sheppard nodded. 'Yeah…we will.' His emotions knotted in his throat at the thought of how much this was affecting not only him, but his team too. They were doing what they could to help – Teyla's compassion, Rodney's search for answers, and Ronon's fervent promise to protect him. They were each so different in their approach to life but had bonded on a level he'd never thought possible. They weren't just his friends, they were like family to him. And families would do anything for each other. He knew that because he felt the same way about them. At some level he understood that was what was driving this Kolya guy, too.

Unfortunately, their bond alone might not be enough to keep him safe. The Genii were masters at ambush, especially the Kolyas of their kind. This Kolya had misjudged him this time – hadn't figured on just how stubborn he could be when it came to survival – but Sheppard doubted he would make the same mistake twice.

Just like Acastus himself, this Kolya wanted him dead. The desire for revenge was a powerful emotion, one new brewing inside Sheppard as surely as it did in his Genii adversary.

Mercy would not be on the table the next time they met…not for either of them.

**The End…**

* * *

**A/N: Or is it? Somehow this turned into a potential teaser for a bigger story. Not what I originally intended, but if anyone's interested I could work on that in the future. **

**Back to working on my Precious Commodities sequel for now. I hope you all enjoyed this story, brief as it was. Thank you to everyone leaving comments, favouriting and following. It's very much appreciated!**


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